


Christmas

by Truth



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-30
Updated: 2004-10-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Truth/pseuds/Truth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of a somewhat disturbing Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas

2 am

There was a certain nostalgia to it, he supposed, looking up that the tall, darkened building. Grey, weathered stone and a wall that was mostly glass – colorless in the darkness of morning – a soaring bell tower….

Perhaps not _nostalgia._

He stepped forward, knowing that the huge iron-banded doors would be unlocked, and they opened easily beneath his hand. He closed them behind him, working the locks smoothly even in the darkness. It had been many long years since he’d set foot in this place, but he remembered every corner and cranny, every lock and bar.

Booted feet moved across the stone floor, taking him through the entry and into the soaring, open height of the nave. There was still darkness here, but he did not misstep. With only the soft echo of his own movement as companion, he moved across the stone floor, down the aisle toward the still invisible chancel. He turned, at ease in the darkness and in no danger of barking his shin against the low steps leading to the chancel. Exiting the nave, letting a second set of heavy doors swing closed behind him, he could hear the first whisper of sound.

The church was not deserted.

But then, he’d known that already.

There was singing coming from somewhere within the giant building, and the singer was familiar. A light tenor voice, echoing in the empty passages and stairwells, drew him onward and he moved through the darkened halls in search of the singer.

The song which he followed was pleasantly, if not skillfully sung. Something about children…. It ended before he found the singer but, with only a brief pause, the singing began anew. This song was more familiar – O Holy Night – and the singer had switched from his native language to English. As the words grew more distinct, there came the first dim glow of light.

Moving softly down the hallway to a set of open doors, he stepped within and waited.

The chapel was small and stark. Without seeing the nave in the blaze of color and glory that had passed just an hour or two ago, he knew that it had been covered in garlands and candles, bright light and the warmth of hundreds that still hung in the close, pine scented air. Here, there were no decorations, no warmth. It was cold and grey, the darkness outside hiding even the colored panes in the narrow windows. Grey stone, dark wood and a stark white altar cloth….

The only color came from a slash of brilliant orange, long hair spread out against the grey stone, illuminated by a branch of candles that he recognized as having been ‘borrowed’ from the high altar upstairs. Long legs crossed at the ankle, tall body reclined against the shallow steps that led to the small prie-dieu that served as the altar. Schuldig’s head was tipped back and he was staring up at the low ceiling, darkened here and there by years of heat from the high mounted candles – still not replaced by modern wiring.

It wasn’t until he finished his song that he raised his head to greet his visitor, the last notes still echoing faintly in the tiny chapel. “You’re late.”

Stepping out of the shadows and into the faint light of the candles, Farfarello shrugged. He had not considered the time, knowing that Schuldig would wait. The German could be very patient when there was something that he wanted.

“Two o’clock.” Schuldig was looking at his watch. “That makes you the Ghost of Christmas Present. I’d’ve pegged you as Christmas Yet to Come, myself.”

Farfarello shrugged again, coming to a halt with his booted feet almost touching those of the man still sprawled upon the floor. There was a brief silence before Schuldig looked up again, meeting his one-eyed gaze with a smile.

“I was beginning to think that you wouldn’t come after all.”

“I told you that I would be here.” Farfarello frowned down at the telepath. “We had an agreement.”

“We did.” Schuldig propped himself up on his elbows and grinned at him. “I do something for you, you do something for me and everybody’s happy.”

Farfarello continued to frown as Schuldig rose to his feet, picking up the branch of candles and stretching. The telepath caught the look and frowned a little himself.

“You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” Schuldig took a swift step forward and subjected the Irishman to a searching look. It was returned levely.

“No.” Farfarello responded finally, the frown fading to a faint smile.

“Did you think I’d change my mind?” Schuldig’s answering smile had _edges_ and his eyes gleamed in the glow of the candles. “I know what I want, and you made me a promise.”

“I will keep my promise,” Farfarello assured him softly. “You will have what you want.”

Schuldig turned to place the candles on the prie-dieu, shrugging out of the long coat that had kept him from the chill of the stone steps. “I always get what I want,” he responded, leaning into the gloved hands that closed over his shoulders.

“Always,” Farfarello agreed. He removed his hands after a moment, stripping off his gloves and letting them fall. The cool air in the chapel did not bother him, the gloves and long coat that he wore being a barrier against the falling snow rather than a defense against the cold.

Schuldig turned to face him, eyes still gleaming and Farfarello’s faint smile widened. He dug his hands into the bright hair and dragged Schuldig forward. Sealing his mouth to Schuldig’s, Farfarello tightened his grip. There was nothing of affection to the action, nothing save want realized. Schuldig’s hands were already beneath his coat, exploring the body he’d seen a thousand times in various states of undress, but never touched like this. It wasn’t anything new to either man. Sex, raw and uncomplicated, nothing different save the choice of partner and an edge that was as familiar as it was out of place.

Schuldig found himself backed against the low railing that marked the edge of the chancel, even as he lost his balance on the shallow steps. Bent awkwardly backward, his elbows against the railing, he managed to keep his footing for a moment or two before Farfarello casually swept his legs out from beneath him. Swearing, Schuldig fell, landing sprawled again on the steps.

Farfarello dropped to his knees, straddling the telepath and planting one hand firmly on the center of Schuldig’s chest. A dark smile spread slowly across his face as a knife appeared in one hand. Schuldig swore again, twisting and knocking Farfarello’s hands away. Pulling himself to a sitting position, he opened his mouth to snarl at the Irishman, only to snap his teeth shut sharply as Farfarello grabbed his collar, the knife slicing sharply downward, parting the fabric of his shirt cleanly as the point traced a faint, dark line against his skin.

“You asked _me_ ,” Farfarello reminded him softly.

Pale fingers followed the tear down Schuldig’s chest, taking advantage of the fact that the telepath was using both hands to support himself against the stairs. He’d barely creased Schuldig’s skin, the occasional drop of blood due more to Schuldig’s involuntary movement than any effort on Farfarello’s part to actually pierce his skin. The pink-tinged hand again rested against the center of Schuldig’s chest and shoved. Schuldig fell back again, body tense but offering no real resistance this time. Bare-chested, heartbeat just a little too fast, Schuldig stared up at Farfarello, forcing his body to relax.

‘We had a deal and this,’ closing blue eyes as cool hands moved across warm skin, ‘this was _my_ idea.’

Farfarello watched as Schuldig shivered beneath his hands, a movement that owed little, if anything, to the temperature of the room. Cleaning the red smudge off his blade, he slid the knife into its proper place before turning his complete attention to Schuldig. Sliding further down the telepath’s body, he straddled Schuldig’s legs. It took only moments to work the fastening of the dark jeans, peeling them away. Hands, now warmed by contact with Schuldig’s body, moved with assurance.

A shallow gasp sounded as calloused fingers folded around sensitive flesh and teeth closed against the join of his throat and shoulder. Schuldig could feel his body responding, heat flushing through him as he dug his hands into Farfarello’s back, sliding his hands downward beneath the long coat to find a grip on muscular hips. Thumbs stroked against the growing bulge in Farfarello’s pants, buying him a sudden, almost savage tightening of the teeth against his skin.

The mouth working against Schuldig’s throat moved slowly downward, leaving a trail of rapidly fading heat and the occasional faint imprint of teeth. The sudden, deft twist of a nipple brought Schuldig alive beneath him, cursing softly as his hands suddenly tore at the fastening of Farfarello’s jeans. The discomfort of the steps beneath his back, even tempered by the heavy coat, was suddenly a distant memory as Schuldig lost interest in anything save the immediate joining of bodies.

Closing his own hands over Schuldig’s wrists, Farfarello pulled away, rising to his feet and dragging Schuldig with him. A sharp tug brought Schuldig, off-balance, into his arms. Schuldig found himself suddenly embraced from behind, hair swept over one shoulder and out of the way. Farfarello’s arms closed around his chest and hips, mouth fastening again to the curve of his throat.

The solid hardness of the muscled body against his back was far more pleasant than the stone of the floor and Schuldig gave a soft hiss of appreciation. Schuldig toed off his boots, eyes half-closed as Farfarello’s mouth worked leisurely against his skin. For all of Farfarello’s apparent willingness to take his time, Schuldig had been waiting for three hours and his own patience had already been spent. As if in response to that impatience, Farfarello relaxed his grip slightly, dropping his hand to close again firmly around Schuldig’s exposed cock.

Farfarello had been given plenty of opportunity over the years to watch Schuldig play games, both on the job and off. Schuldig always had something more going on than could be guessed at, a private game that he played against himself. He’d always been careful not to play with his teammates, however, and it was strange to feel him giving way so easily, head falling back onto Farfarello’s shoulder.

As enjoyable as it was to hear Schuldig’s voice break on his name and feel the muscled body arch against his grip, Farfarello was not going to be satisfied with that. Schuldig seemed to be of the same mind, as his own hands dropped to the opened jeans and shoved them downward. Kicking them away, he pressed back against Farfarello, turning his head to look at the other man out of the corner of his eye.

Farfarello responded to the look by turning to press a bruising kiss on that hungry mouth before releasing Schuldig, pushing him forward toward the prayer rail. Hands closing over the polished wood, Schuldig shivered again as Farfarello pulled away. The absence didn’t last, hands returning to skim bared flesh and slick fingers exploring the half-dressed body. A booted foot pressed against Schuldig’s calf, causing him to shift his weight with an appreciative groan.

Farfarello withdrew his fingers, other hand stroking a long line down Schuldig’s spine before fastening over one hip. There was nothing then but heat and friction, the small chapel sharply echoing the sound of harsh gasps and flesh on flesh. Even in the chill air, sweat darkened the thin shirt Schuldig wore, and a purely internal fire kept the coldness from being more than dimly felt.

It didn’t take long, heavy thrusts and the pull of a long-fingered hand causing Schuldig’s hands to clench and muscles to tighten. Back arching, he came with a cry, shuddering against the body pressed so firmly to his own. Hand still moving, Farfarello gave him a moment to recover before resuming his own movement, following Schuldig over the edge only a minute or two later.

Save for the sound of heavy breathing, there was silence for several minutes, the lazy satisfaction slowly banished by the chill in the air. As Farfarello pulled away, Schuldig took a shaky breath. He stretched slowly before re-dressing, sitting again on the shallow steps to pull on his boots. Looking up at Farfarello, he smiled slowly. “Sort of a shame to have left it so late….”

Farfarello raised an eyebrow, retrieving his gloves and pulling them on. “It was your choice.”

“Pity.” Schuldig leaned back, propping himself on one elbow. “I should have taken you up on it six months ago.”

“Six months ago, you said it would only be a few weeks.”

“Time wasted, now.” Schuldig shook his head, still smiling. “I do something for you, you do something for me….”

“… and you always get what you want.”

The air was chill as Farfarello stepped out into the dark of the winter morning. He drew the heavy door closed behind him, hearing the solid ‘thud’ as the heavy bolt fell into place. Gloved hands tugged his collar upward as he set off down the street.

Behind him, in the chapel, the candles still burned, casting flickering shadows across the grey stone and glinting dully off the colored glass in the tiny windows. There was no singing this time, however, no sound at all. The faint smell of pine and incense from above was cut by a sharper smell, something darker and more primal.

Schuldig lay where Farfarello had first found him, staring at the ceiling through sightless eyes, bright hair no longer the only color in the room. The long skirts of his coat were spread around him and from beneath them spread a slow pool of color.

 _‘Because it has to be done right the first time.’_

On the street corner, Farfarello paused to light a cigarette, seeing again a sharp edged smile and hearing a familiar voice.

“You have what you wanted, Schuldig.” Crossing the empty street, he glanced up at the clear sky, seeing his breath in the air. His lips twisted slightly, forming an expression of cynical amusement. “Merry Christmas.”


End file.
